Aug 2008
Perspectivalism
08/27/08 11:20 Categories: Theology
We need to read the Scriptures in a way that answers the questions that those Scriptures raise. For example, the purpose of Genesis 1, in terms of the questions that it is seeking to answer, has very little (nothing?) to do with the questions that we bring to the text, i.e., the modern scientific conflict of creation opposed to evolution. This text is premodern, and without any understanding of the scientific method, and so how can we import our scientific needs onto a text that has no understanding of that. I suppose the justification roots on Scripture being God’s Word, but that fully usurps the human level of Scripture. So, even if Gen 1 does correspond with the order of sciences’ understanding of creation (light made first, planets next, etc.) - though this is a tenuous correspondence with a necessary ad hoc component - we cannot and should not understand that the author if intended this seeming coincidence. I have only used Genesis 1 as an example of something that we do throughout Scripture.
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Jurgen Moltmann
08/26/08 09:06 Categories: Theology
From Experiences of God, p. 6-8, by Jurgen Moltmann:
“Born in Hamburg in 1926, I belong to the generation which consciously lived through the horrors of the Second World War, the collapse of an empire and its institutions, the guilt and shame of one’s own nation, and a long period as prisoner of war. Later we were called ‘the sceptical generation’. And those of us who survived those years and who came back from then on shunned the fire. We had learnt justifiable mistrust. But we were really neither sceptical nor resigned. We were weighed down by the sombre burden of a guilt which could never be paid off; and what we felt about life was ann inconsolable grief. It is understandable that there were some of us whose motto was ‘count me out’, and whose aim was to withdraw into private life for the future. But really we came back to Germany with the will to create a new, different, more humane world. Some of us found behind the barbed wire the power of a hope which wants something new, instead of seeking a return to the old.
“Our Abitur - the university entrance exam - was put forward so that we could be sent to the guns, as Air Force auxiliaries. At that time I really wanted to read mathematics and physics at the university. Of course I had become interested in these subjects at school because of some teachers I admired. The theory of relativity and quantum physics were the most fascinating secrets open to knowledge. At that time the idea of theology was as remote as the church itself. The ‘iron rations’ in the way of reading matter which I took with me into the miseries of war were Goethe’s poems and the works of Nietzche (army edition, India paper). In February 1945 I was taken prisoner by the British, and for over three years I was moved from camp to camp in Belgium, Scotland and England. In April 1948 I was one of the last to be ‘repatriated’, as the phrase went.
“The break-up of the German front, the collapse of law and humanity, the self-destruction of German civilization and culture, and finally the appalling end on 9 May 1945 - all this was followed by the revelation of the crimes which had been committed in Germany’s name - Buchenwald, Auschwitz, Maidanek, Bergen-Belsen and the rest. And with that came the necessity of standing up to it all inwardly, shut up in camps as we were. I think my own little world fell to pieces then too. The ‘iron rations’ I had with me were quickly used up, and what remained left a stale taste in the mouth. In that Belgian camp, hungry as we were, I saw how other men collapsed inwardly, how they gave up all hope, sickening for the lack of it, some of them dying. The same thing almost happened to me. What kept me from it was a rebirth to new life thanks to a hope for which there was no evidence at all.
“It was not that I experienced any sudden conversion. What I felt all at once was the death of all the mainstays that had sustained my life up to then. It was only slowly that something different began to build up in their stead. At home, Christianity was only a matter of form. One came across it once a year at Christmas time, as something rather remote. In the prison camps where I was I only met it in very human - all too human - form. It was nothing very overwhelming. And yet the experience of misery and forsakenness and daily humiliation gradually built up into an experience of God.
“It was the experience of God’s presence in the dark night of the soul: ‘If I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.’ A well-meaning army chaplain had given me a New Testament. I thought it was out of place. I would rather have had something to eat. But then I became fascinated by the Psalms (which were printed in an appendix) and especially by Psalm 39: ‘I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred’ (but the German is much stronger - ‘I have to eat up my grief within myself’) ... Hold thou not thy peace at my tears: for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.’ These psalms gave me the words for my own suffering. They opened my eyes to the God who is with those ‘that are of a broken heart’. He was present even behind the barbed wire - no, most of all behind the barbed wire. But whenever in my despair I wanted to lay firm hold on this experience, it eluded me again, and there I was with empty hands once more. All that was left was an inward drive, a longing which provided the impetus to hope. How often I walked round and round in circles at night in front of the barbed wire fence. My first thoughts were always about the free world outside, from which I was cut off; but I always ended up thinking about a centre to the circle in the middle of the camp - a little hill, with a hut on it which served as a chapel. It seemed to me like a circle surrounding the mystery of God, which was drawing me towards it.
“This experience of not sinking into the abyss but of being held up from afar was the beginning of a clear hope, without which it is impossible to live at all. At the same time, even this hope cut two ways; on the one hand it provided the strength to get up again after every inward or outward defeat; on the other hand it made the soul rub itself raw on the barbed wire, making it impossible to settle down in captivity or come to terms with it.”
“Born in Hamburg in 1926, I belong to the generation which consciously lived through the horrors of the Second World War, the collapse of an empire and its institutions, the guilt and shame of one’s own nation, and a long period as prisoner of war. Later we were called ‘the sceptical generation’. And those of us who survived those years and who came back from then on shunned the fire. We had learnt justifiable mistrust. But we were really neither sceptical nor resigned. We were weighed down by the sombre burden of a guilt which could never be paid off; and what we felt about life was ann inconsolable grief. It is understandable that there were some of us whose motto was ‘count me out’, and whose aim was to withdraw into private life for the future. But really we came back to Germany with the will to create a new, different, more humane world. Some of us found behind the barbed wire the power of a hope which wants something new, instead of seeking a return to the old.
“Our Abitur - the university entrance exam - was put forward so that we could be sent to the guns, as Air Force auxiliaries. At that time I really wanted to read mathematics and physics at the university. Of course I had become interested in these subjects at school because of some teachers I admired. The theory of relativity and quantum physics were the most fascinating secrets open to knowledge. At that time the idea of theology was as remote as the church itself. The ‘iron rations’ in the way of reading matter which I took with me into the miseries of war were Goethe’s poems and the works of Nietzche (army edition, India paper). In February 1945 I was taken prisoner by the British, and for over three years I was moved from camp to camp in Belgium, Scotland and England. In April 1948 I was one of the last to be ‘repatriated’, as the phrase went.
“The break-up of the German front, the collapse of law and humanity, the self-destruction of German civilization and culture, and finally the appalling end on 9 May 1945 - all this was followed by the revelation of the crimes which had been committed in Germany’s name - Buchenwald, Auschwitz, Maidanek, Bergen-Belsen and the rest. And with that came the necessity of standing up to it all inwardly, shut up in camps as we were. I think my own little world fell to pieces then too. The ‘iron rations’ I had with me were quickly used up, and what remained left a stale taste in the mouth. In that Belgian camp, hungry as we were, I saw how other men collapsed inwardly, how they gave up all hope, sickening for the lack of it, some of them dying. The same thing almost happened to me. What kept me from it was a rebirth to new life thanks to a hope for which there was no evidence at all.
“It was not that I experienced any sudden conversion. What I felt all at once was the death of all the mainstays that had sustained my life up to then. It was only slowly that something different began to build up in their stead. At home, Christianity was only a matter of form. One came across it once a year at Christmas time, as something rather remote. In the prison camps where I was I only met it in very human - all too human - form. It was nothing very overwhelming. And yet the experience of misery and forsakenness and daily humiliation gradually built up into an experience of God.
“It was the experience of God’s presence in the dark night of the soul: ‘If I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.’ A well-meaning army chaplain had given me a New Testament. I thought it was out of place. I would rather have had something to eat. But then I became fascinated by the Psalms (which were printed in an appendix) and especially by Psalm 39: ‘I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred’ (but the German is much stronger - ‘I have to eat up my grief within myself’) ... Hold thou not thy peace at my tears: for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.’ These psalms gave me the words for my own suffering. They opened my eyes to the God who is with those ‘that are of a broken heart’. He was present even behind the barbed wire - no, most of all behind the barbed wire. But whenever in my despair I wanted to lay firm hold on this experience, it eluded me again, and there I was with empty hands once more. All that was left was an inward drive, a longing which provided the impetus to hope. How often I walked round and round in circles at night in front of the barbed wire fence. My first thoughts were always about the free world outside, from which I was cut off; but I always ended up thinking about a centre to the circle in the middle of the camp - a little hill, with a hut on it which served as a chapel. It seemed to me like a circle surrounding the mystery of God, which was drawing me towards it.
“This experience of not sinking into the abyss but of being held up from afar was the beginning of a clear hope, without which it is impossible to live at all. At the same time, even this hope cut two ways; on the one hand it provided the strength to get up again after every inward or outward defeat; on the other hand it made the soul rub itself raw on the barbed wire, making it impossible to settle down in captivity or come to terms with it.”
2 Wishes
These days I have two wishes for/from the church. The first is a deeper engagement in silence during services. In my church experience silence is an uncomfortable time where folks have not been trained to seek inside themselves, sit in the depths of God, coming up face-to-face with our minuteness in the presence of a vast God...
My second wish really focuses on humility. Essentially, I wish we were more humble in our epistemology and grasp of truth. Suffice an example: the trinity. I have written about this before, and my point is almost the same. The trinity is an example of the supra-rationality of God and the tenuous nature of our knowledge. The three and one aspect of trinity defies human knowledge. One of the basic tenets of matter is that it cannot be in the same place as other matter, and thus the trinity, in some manner, shows the weakness of our understanding. (I am not so much putting God in the realm of matter, as trying to show how contrary to our experience of reality God is.) Yet, not only does the trinity show us how dimly we perceive reality, it also brings us (hopefully) to humility. Instead of being able to claim some sort of deeper knowledge or reality, we should admit that our knowledge is ever changing, ever being learned. This is the contrary mode of most church mindsets and (foundationalist) epistemologies (in my experience).
My second wish really focuses on humility. Essentially, I wish we were more humble in our epistemology and grasp of truth. Suffice an example: the trinity. I have written about this before, and my point is almost the same. The trinity is an example of the supra-rationality of God and the tenuous nature of our knowledge. The three and one aspect of trinity defies human knowledge. One of the basic tenets of matter is that it cannot be in the same place as other matter, and thus the trinity, in some manner, shows the weakness of our understanding. (I am not so much putting God in the realm of matter, as trying to show how contrary to our experience of reality God is.) Yet, not only does the trinity show us how dimly we perceive reality, it also brings us (hopefully) to humility. Instead of being able to claim some sort of deeper knowledge or reality, we should admit that our knowledge is ever changing, ever being learned. This is the contrary mode of most church mindsets and (foundationalist) epistemologies (in my experience).
the Real Universe
08/19/08 21:12 Categories: Literature and Film
Qua Rationality
08/13/08 10:29 Categories: Theology | Philosophy
Lately I have been perusing Alistair McGrath and Richard Dawkins’ debates/interviews on YouTube. They have been deeply disturbing, namely because Dawkins reveals in a very obvious manner the irrationality of Christianity. This is an extremely difficult aspect of Christianity. We try as hard as hard as we can to maintain our rationality with mixed results. Let me layout the problem, propose some underlying theses, and some (potential) solutions.
The essential problem revolves around the Resurrection. If we understand rationality as logical thinking (logical meaning able to be tested in terms of validity), then how can the resurrection (much less the incarnation) ever be a rationally understood enterprise? This is particularly true from our station as humans! Perhaps if we had some supernatural vision of the world, then we could use different tests of validity than those at our disposal. This sort of wishful thinking may not be pragmatic, but hopefully it reminds us, as thinkers, that the greatest pursuits we can engage in are limited. I stray from my point.
Dawkins cornered McGrath on the issue of God’s action. It is a deeply inexplicable problem, and one of many that Dawkins could have used. In this particular case, Dawkins asked how one can be rational while holding the proposition that God saves (in a very real sense, such as from the catastrophe of 9/11) some people and not others while at the same time believing that God had no direct action in the death of the thousands of other. If God is really God, why would he save that one person, or this few people, and let the many die? This appears inherently irrational.
The essential problem revolves around the Resurrection. If we understand rationality as logical thinking (logical meaning able to be tested in terms of validity), then how can the resurrection (much less the incarnation) ever be a rationally understood enterprise? This is particularly true from our station as humans! Perhaps if we had some supernatural vision of the world, then we could use different tests of validity than those at our disposal. This sort of wishful thinking may not be pragmatic, but hopefully it reminds us, as thinkers, that the greatest pursuits we can engage in are limited. I stray from my point.
Dawkins cornered McGrath on the issue of God’s action. It is a deeply inexplicable problem, and one of many that Dawkins could have used. In this particular case, Dawkins asked how one can be rational while holding the proposition that God saves (in a very real sense, such as from the catastrophe of 9/11) some people and not others while at the same time believing that God had no direct action in the death of the thousands of other. If God is really God, why would he save that one person, or this few people, and let the many die? This appears inherently irrational.
What do we really know?
08/06/08 18:02 Categories: Theology | Philosophy
In the Old Testament, there is only one God. Yahweh. The evidence is not monolithic, and some point to different hintings at the Trinity, but truly any good Jew knows that the Lord is one. However, in the New Testament, we learn a deeper truth - a deeper revelation of reality. God is one, but in a very mysterious way - the trinity. He is one and three at the same time. Is this the final revelation? Certainly not.
In the Old Testament, the Messiah seems to imply someone who is going to come from the line of David and establish the kingdom of Israel again (like David). When Jesus shows up, those are not his intentions at all (at least in the sense of creating an earthly Kingdom). The Jews are not able to recognize him as the Messiah for that very reason!
My point is this: what do we know? What of our understanding of God is a bit off (or significantly off in the case of political power!)? What if our traditional understanding of salvation is not quite right? What if the traditional understanding of God as a warrior or as a peacemaker is not quite right.
If the New Testament is a partial corrective to the Hebrew Scriptures (and Jesus very much see himself as a corrective, i.e., when it comes to the understanding of Sabbath), then how much can we trust the Bible? Moreover, Paul’s own philosophical and theological musings - how are they more accurate than Calvin or Barth? I do not mean that in an arrogant sense, but were not Calvin and Barth followers of Christ seeking God’s purpose/will? Couldn’t Paul be slightly mistaken in his understanding of eschatology, soteriology or salvation?
In the Old Testament, the Messiah seems to imply someone who is going to come from the line of David and establish the kingdom of Israel again (like David). When Jesus shows up, those are not his intentions at all (at least in the sense of creating an earthly Kingdom). The Jews are not able to recognize him as the Messiah for that very reason!
My point is this: what do we know? What of our understanding of God is a bit off (or significantly off in the case of political power!)? What if our traditional understanding of salvation is not quite right? What if the traditional understanding of God as a warrior or as a peacemaker is not quite right.
If the New Testament is a partial corrective to the Hebrew Scriptures (and Jesus very much see himself as a corrective, i.e., when it comes to the understanding of Sabbath), then how much can we trust the Bible? Moreover, Paul’s own philosophical and theological musings - how are they more accurate than Calvin or Barth? I do not mean that in an arrogant sense, but were not Calvin and Barth followers of Christ seeking God’s purpose/will? Couldn’t Paul be slightly mistaken in his understanding of eschatology, soteriology or salvation?